Thirty-something speaks
Where are my keys?
Mike Maddock

Why do both my home phones have a locator but my keys do not? Phones ring. If someone calls me, I'm eventually going to find that phone no matter how well it's hidden. If I have to make a call, I can grab the other phone or use a cell phone.

A home phone locator is only necessary out of pure laziness or to mess with other people in the house. I may believe the phone is somewhere in the couch, but why waste energy feeling under the cushions rubbing my hands across hardened French fries, loose change, and the occasional remote control? One push of the locator button and I'll know.

One push of that locator button is good for at least one prank call too. I often push the button just to hear my wife scurrying across the upstairs to get to the phone. I may get a good laugh, but is it really that useful?

What I could really use is a locator on my keys. Is there some grand conspiracy put forth by the key makers and locksmiths that won't allow such a device?

My dad was a notorious key loser. I spent a fair amount of my childhood looking for his keys. Most of the time they were locked safely in his Oldsmobile, but other keys just vanished from the face of the Earth so completely we often wondered if they ever really existed. As a result, my dad had Acme House of Keys on speed dial.

As they say, the apple does not fall far from the tree. My keys are more elusive than the Ivory- billed Woodpecker. I'm convinced they spend a lot of time partying and laughing with many of my socks, several remote controls, and my office scissors. That's why I hang them in the same spot every night when I get home. At least, that's the plan.

The other morning I went to grab them, and they weren't there. This is not an unusual occurrence, but after 30 minutes of searching I was starting to get a little worried. I would have to call into work absent minded, "Uh, I'm not going to be in today…I lost my keys." My kids who depend on me for a ride would also have to miss school. "Yes, Ms. Principal, we couldn't come today, because our dad is a bonehead."

I started to panic and I began to curse my dad and his key- losing- gene, which he had so graciously passed on to me. I retraced my steps and gave myself a headache trying to remember what I had done when I came in the night before.

As I was about to pull my last remaining hair out and call it a day, my oldest daughter squeamishly looked at me and said, "I may have used them to get in Mommy's car." Of course, Mommy's car was already halfway to Rock Hill when my daughter disclosed this to me.

After a brief fit from me and a call to Mommy that did indeed confirm my keys were on the way to Rock Hill, I calmed down and felt a sense of relief that, at least this time, I was not crazy. Maybe a locator would not have helped much in this situation, but I could have really messed with my wife. But that would not have been a good idea, because she was the one who reminded me my spare keys were in the kitchen drawer.